


Second Chance At First Line

by pocketmumbles (livelikejack)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Everyone Is Alive, F/F, Fix-It, Ghosts, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Really Character Death, Reboot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 20:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5469269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livelikejack/pseuds/pocketmumbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, you’re a ghost,” Paige says.</p><p>Violet snorts. “Apparently.”</p><p>
  <em>(Or, a time travel/timeline reboot AU where Violet dies, becomes a ghost, haunts a teenage girl named Paige, dies again, and everyone ends up making it out alive after all. Major Character Death warning tag is because Violet technically dies onscreen, even though it isn't permanent.)</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _prompt: I would LOVE a paige/violet + a Christmas or winteryness prompt if that’s something you’d feel cool filling_
> 
> This is Christmas-y in the sense that it’s vaaaaaaaaaguely sort of reminiscent of the ghost-y part of A Christmas Carol, if you squint really, _really_ hard. Originally posted on [Tumblr](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com/post/135151660801/december-drabble-advent-calendar-day-13).
> 
> Violence is non-graphic and rather minimal, but Violet does technically die within the story, hence the Major Character Death warning tag.

_Well, this sucks._

As far as last words go, Violet really could have chosen better. She can’t decide if it’s more or less embarrassing that those weren’t even her last spoken words, but rather her last _thoughts_. On the one hand, at least no one heard her say it – not that Kate Argent seemed very cognizant of anything at the moment – but on the other hand…really? _Really?_

Violet is aware of the kind of life that she lives – lived. She isn’t naïve enough to think that her last words would be some parting wisdom, or that her last thoughts would be some sweet exhale of peace. She just kind of expected a little better from herself.

She also could have done without the utter indignity of getting arrested, and then kidnapped from being arrested, before being _accidentally_ killed in a slip of werejaguar control that could best be summed up with, “oops.” All things considered, ending things on, _well, this sucks_ , was actually pretty fitting.

The only problem is, Violet doesn’t seem to be dead.

She isn’t naïve. She knows that she died, no question. No one could survive a throat slash that deep, and Kate wasn’t an alpha, anyway, so there was no chance of Violet being turned. Plus, there was that whole out-of-body experience that she had, floating above Kate Argent throwing an extremely bloody hissy fit over Violet’s now-dead body. And then there was a phantom hand closing around her throat, and twin red lights shining so brightly that she had to close her eyes – and then she was here.

If _here_ is supposed to be the afterlife, Violet is very disappointed. It looks an awful lot like a high school locker room. Boys’ locker room, she decides, after sniffing the air. She taps the wall behind her experimentally, and it feels solid and wooden and awfully real. She pinches herself – it hurts – then to the mirror and examines the unbroken skin of her throat. Huh.

The faint _ting_ of metal on metal echoes from outside the locker room, so Violet shrugs and follows its echoes into the hallway. A teenage boy – freshman, Violet guesses, although he looks so cockily pleased with himself that he could be a sophomore – steps into the hall and walks right past her, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. Violet frowns after him, then quickly ducks into the room he’d exited before the door swings shut.

She finds herself in a music room. Huh. She used to love – she’d been pretty good in music class, before. Picked up the violin like she was born to play it, then the viola with the same ease, then struggled to reach the right notes with her tiny fingers when she tried the cello. The struggle had been fun, to stick with something that challenged her when so many things came so easily. But that had been before, anyway. She hasn’t touched an instrument in years. If this room is supposed to be some sort of afterlife subconscious, then it’s really damn stupid.

The click of a cello case echoes behind her. Violet turns around to find herself staring at a teenage girl, all dark hair and pale skin and eyebrows arching in utter disdain. Oh. Maybe this room _is_ her afterlife subconscious, after all.

Then the girl opens her mouth and says, “If you’re one of Derek’s friends, I don’t actually care, okay? Just leave me alone.”

So much for her subconscious. The girl’s clothes are completely hideous, too, now that Violet looks closer. She glares and snaps back, “What the hell are you talking about?”

As far as witty retorts go, it’s pretty lame. But the girl doesn’t seem to notice, as her eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, jeez, I’m so sorry,” she says, and actually sounds apologetic. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It’s…it’s been a pretty weird day.”

Violet laughs. She can’t do anything else but laugh at the girl’s words. _It’s been a pretty weird day_. Violet got her throat torn out today. Yeah, it’s been _pretty weird_. For some reason, though, her crazed cackling laughter seems to put the girl at ease, since a genuine smile breaks across her face and she sets down her cello case to step closer. “I’m Paige,” she says, holding out her hand.

 _Paige_. Like a page in a book. Violet had always loved reading. “Violet,” she says, shaking Paige’s hand.

Or, well. Her hand closes around Paige’s, then keeps closing until it slides right through it. Paige gasps, arm jerking back involuntarily, then she reaches forward and tries to touch Violet’s hand. Violet can feel Paige’s fingers passing through her hand, sort of, like an odd sort of tingle. The faintest echo of a burn. “You’re-” Paige gasps, staring at her with wide eyes, and Violet realizes that this world she’s been dropped into isn’t hers at all.

She sighs. “Well, this sucks.”

 

* * *

 

“So, you’re a ghost,” Paige says.

Violet snorts. “Apparently.”

They’re sitting on Paige’s bed – _on_ it, not _through_ it, and Violet supposes she should be grateful for whatever sort of ghost logic allows her to sit on furniture and floors instead of sinking all the way through the Earth’s crust. She isn’t, though, because she is apparently a _ghost_. Her actual death had been humiliating enough, and now she gets to spend her afterlife floating around the stupid town that killed her.

And that’s another thing. She can’t float. What’s the point of being a ghost if she can’t even float? Violet resolves to try harder at floating when Paige isn’t looking. She hasn’t tried jumping into the air yet, but she also doesn’t want to look like an aimlessly hopping moron while Paige can see.

Paige glances around her room, fingers tapping awkwardly on her knees. “So…can anyone else see you?”

That boy in the hallway hadn’t seemed to notice her, and Paige’s parents hadn’t batted an eye when Violet stuck her head through the window. “No,” she says, then admits, “I haven’t been around many people yet, though. I’m a – a new ghost. I guess.”

Paige nods easily. She hasn’t freaked out once since she’s realized that Violet was an _undead ghost_ , and Violet is more than a little disappointed. What’s the point of being a ghost if she can’t scare people? “And you said you…appeared…in the school, right? Maybe that’s important.”

“Doubt it,” Violet says. “I showed up in the boys’ locker room.”

“There has to be a reason, though,” Paige says, as if she actually knew anything about undead ghost logic. “Ghosts stay in places that mean something to them, like-” Her eyes widen, and she abruptly falls silent.

“I didn’t die in the boys’ locker room,” Violet says flatly. She rolls her eyes and mutters, “I’m no Moaning Myrtle.”

Paige’s eyebrows fly up her forehead, then she lets out a loud giggle. “No,” she agrees, hiding her laughter behind her hand. “No, I think you’re more of a Nearly-Headless Nick.”

 _More like the Bloody Baron_ , Violet thinks. She doesn’t say it out loud, though, because Paige is still smiling at her, completely at ease and under the misguided impression that Violet is actually here for some sort of _purpose_. She seems to believe that Violet is a good, likable person, and…Violet doesn’t want to tell her truth. Not just yet. “I always liked the Grey Lady the most,” she says instead.

“I knew it. You’re a Ravenclaw, just like me.” Paige hops off her bed and grabs pajamas from her dresser. “I still think there’s something important about the school,” she says as she disappears into the bathroom. “We’ll see what happens tomorrow.”

“Going out of your way to help a ghost, that’s pretty Hufflepuff of you,” Violet calls through the door.

“You kidding me? I just want to make sure I’m around when something weird happens.”

Violet snorts. She waits until the faucet starts running, then moves to the middle of Paige’s room and jumps. Then jumps again. Then takes a running leap and falls through the door and into the hallway. She stomps back into Paige’s room, then freezes when she sees Paige grinning from the wide-open bathroom. “No-go with the floating?” she asks.

Violet glares and swats a brush off Paige’s dresser. It doesn’t have the effect she hoped for, especially since her hand passes clean through it without the slightest disturbance. Paige laughs.

 

“I still don’t get what you see in him,” Violet says, glaring across the quad at Derek. She’s been watching him and Paige for _weeks_ , and she still has no idea why Paige seems to like him.

She also has no idea why she has apparently been transplanted back to an entire _decade_ ago. The trees loom overhead, crackling and bare with their last leaves rotting under the tables. One decade ago. The cherry tree outside her house had just begun to blossom when a man came to kill her parents. Violet tries not to think about how close she had come to seeing her parents again, and yet fallen so far short.

She isn’t naïve enough to believe that the past can be changed, though, so she refuses to let it bother her. Nothing about her current predicament makes any sense, no matter how much Paige tries to reason through it. Paige and Derek make even less sense, though, and Violet is determined to get to the bottom of _that_.

Paige just smiles. “There’s just something about him,” she murmurs, ducking behind her book so that her classmates can’t see her talking to herself. It’s weird enough that she sits all by herself at lunch, despite dating hotshot basketball jock Derek Whatshisface. (Paige has told Violet his full name a million times, but Violet always tunes out when she mentions him. It’s probably something boring and forgettable, anyway.) “He’s…nice.”

“ _Nice_ ,” Violet snorts to herself. There are plenty of _nice_ boys in the world. It’s hardly a distinctive virtue. “Why’s he hanging out with that old guy?”

“That’s his uncle. Peter, I think.” Paige glances at Derek’s lunch table – completely empty except for Derek and his uncle, probably _because_ of his uncle. Violet doesn’t know what high school was like a decade ago, but she’s pretty sure that lunchtime visits from family members long past high school age have always been _creepy as hell_. Paige can do better than a _nice_ boy with a creepy, old, high-school-stalking uncle.

As if on cue, Peter turns towards their table, staring at Paige with narrowed eyes. Violet scoots along the table until she blocks the creepy old uncle from Paige’s view. She can’t do a thing to stop Peter from looking, but at least she can stop Paige from having to see him stare. “He’s creepy. I don’t like him.”

Paige chews her lip, then quickly gathers her books and leaves the table. Violet tosses Peter a vindictive glare – he doesn’t notice, of course, but she imagines that he looks a little less comfortable – and follows Paige into the music room. “Yeah,” Paige finally says, not quite meeting Violet’s eyes. “I’m not so sure I like him, either.”

Great. Now Paige looks upset, in that quietly contained way that makes Violet’s stomach twist into ugly little knots. She sinks down into the chair next to Paige. “I’m sure Derek’s nothing like him.”

“Yeah,” Paige says again. She stares at the floor for a long moment, then perks up. “You’re coming to the recital tonight, right?”

She’s all false cheer and forced positivity, so Violet doesn’t feel too bad about bursting her fake bubble. “Can’t,” she says. “I have to do…ghost stuff.” Actually, what she has to do is follow Derek Whatshisface all night, since he apparently isn’t going to Paige’s recital, either. He’s Paige’s boyfriend; he’s _supposed_ to go to these things and, like, toss roses onto the stage or whatever. It’s suspicious that he isn’t going.

Plus, Paige had looked really bummed out when she broke the news to Violet. No one has any right to make Paige look bummed out, least of all Derek.

“Oh,” Paige says. “Right, yeah, of course.” She nods understandingly, but looks even _more_ bummed out. Her hands twist in her lap, and she asks, “Do you need any help? With the ghost stuff?”

Violet blinks at her. “You can’t miss your recital,” she says. “You have that solo thing. You’ve been practicing for months!”

Paige shrugs. “There’ll be more recitals. And I’m the only one in this entire town who can see you. Or hear you.”

The knots in Violet’s stomach twist even tighter. She is the worst ghost _ever_. “You have to go,” she says firmly. “You made me help you pick out a dress last week, and if I had to sit through hours of shopping, then you had damn well better _wear_ it.”

Paige smiles a little. “Okay, fair enough.”

She still looks bummed out, so Violet hears herself add, “I’ll try to be there for your solo. It’s the last piece of the night, right?”

“Yeah,” Paige says, nodding. “Don’t worry about it, though. Really. Your ghost stuff is way more important than a silly recital.”

“I love listening to you play, though.”

Paige blinks. She ducks her head, but Violet catches the blush spreading across her cheeks and the tips of her ears. “Thanks.”

 

It turns out that Derek Whatshisface is a werewolf.

Honestly, Violet could kick herself for not figuring it out sooner. She _does_ kick herself, actually, slamming the tip of her boot into her ankle when she finally pieces together the full moon shining overhead and Derek hiding out in the Preserve with clenched hands and a mouthful of too-long teeth. Creepy old man uncle Peter is there, too, watching Derek with an expression that could almost look like concern. It’s a little hard to tell with the glowing eyes, though.

Violet hurries back to the high school, wishing that being a ghost could let her move faster. Honestly, being undead and hanging around the limbo of yesteryear is a huge disappointment. It had taken her two months to be able to move a single piece of paper. Whatever reason she’s stuck here for, she hopes that it happens soon.

It isn’t so bad with Paige around, though. Violet is going to miss her, whenever she moves on to a real afterlife. (Or maybe one day she’ll just sink through the Earth’s crust. Who knows.) She has no idea why Paige is the only person who can see her, but…she’s glad that it was Paige.

She steps through the auditorium wall just as Paige takes a seat with her cello at the center of the stage. Paige glances around the audience, smiling blandly, then she sees Violet and lights up into a genuine smile.

Violet’s stomach twists – not into knots, not like before. No, it’s more like a…a swoop, sort of. It’s just the trick of the stage lights, bathing Paige in an ethereal glow and making her pretty dress shine – the dress that _Violet_ had picked, and her stomach does another weird swoop – and her smile. Violet wants to keep her smile forever. She steps forward, because no one but Paige will see her, and lifts her hand in a wave—

And Derek steps right past her. Violet’s arm burns as he brushes against it, and she has to hang back and watch as he stops at the edge of the aisle, slightly out of breath with a bouquet of roses in his hands. Paige beams at him – her smile had always been for him – and takes her seat, and the conductor lifts his wand to begin.

Violet isn’t naïve, and she knows that she can’t be upset. She can’t be upset, and she can’t be jealous, and she can’t even hate Derek Whatshisface as he watches Paige with starry eyes. She knows this, because she knows that no matter what she wants, no matter how much her stomach swoops or Paige seems to care about her, there is no competition between Violet and Derek. Derek is alive, and Violet is dead. It is as simple as that.

Violet closes her eyes and lets the music wash over her. At least she’ll always have this. She loves listening to Paige play, after all. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“I think Derek’s hiding something from me,” Paige says.

If Violet were a better person, she would immediately curl up next to Paige on the bed, nudge the blanket closer around her shoulders, and listen attentively. She isn’t, though, so she allows herself several seconds of vindictive glee before she moves closer. The blanket is bunched up enough that she can prod it until it falls onto Paige’s shoulder. “Thanks,” Paige says, smiling weakly as she tucks the blanket under her chin. She looks embarrassed. “Sorry I woke you up. I’m just being ridiculous.”

“Yeah, because catching up on all that ghost sleep sure is crucial,” Violet deadpans. Paige rolls her eyes with a laugh and settles back down. After a few minutes, her breaths even out into sleep, leaving Violet alone with her thoughts.

Paige doesn’t even know the half of it, and by now – she  _should_ , Violet thinks. She has every right to know, and Violet knows that it wouldn’t change how Paige feels about Derek at all. She’s been dealing with a  _ghost_  for months without ever losing her cool; she probably wouldn’t even bat an eye at a werewolf. Paige should know, and Violet should tell her, and—

And yet Violet can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t hers to tell. Logically, Violet knows that it would hurt Paige to hear it from a spying ghost rather than her own boyfriend. Logically, Violet knows that it would hurt Derek, too, which she doesn’t actually care about at all…except that she does, for some stupid reason.

People aren’t monsters because of who they are, but because of what they do. And these past months, Violet has gotten to pretend that she’s just a normal ghost who died under ordinary circumstances. She’s gotten to pretend – god, not even pretend anymore. She really, truly, heart-wrenchingly  _believes_  that Paige cares about her, and isn’t that just the silliest thing? Until now, Violet has never had a problem with people looking at her and seeing a monster, because she knows that she is. But Paige…if Paige saw her for what she truly is, Violet doesn’t know if she’d be able to bear it.

And, stupidly, she can’t wish that on Derek Whatshisface. Deception is a terrible demon, especially the longer that it lasts. Violet brushes an errant lock of hair from Paige’s face and whispers, “Why do you let me stay?”

Paige shifts in her sleep, hand sliding down the pillow until the tip of her pinky just barely brushes Violet’s. Violet doesn’t dare move.

 

* * *

 

She wasn’t always a monster.

She certainly wasn’t a particularly  _nice_  person – too headstrong and impatient to be truly sympathetic towards those who couldn’t keep up with her – but she hadn’t always been a monster. She’d had parents who loved her, spoiled her rotten as their only child, put her in the best schools and any hobby that she wanted. Violin, ballet, soccer, lacrosse when soccer was too boring, viola, gymnastics when ballet was too slow, tae kwon do, cello when the smaller strings were too easy, advanced reading, accelerated programs – Violet craved challenges, and her parents were always encouraging.

Her parents had been nice, the nicest people that anyone knew. It had been such a tragedy when they died; the entire neighborhood had been shocked. How could anyone want to kill such  _nice_  people? And poor little Violet, they all said, poor Violet trapped away in the basement when it happened. She’d accidentally knocked a bottle of bleach all over herself as she ran down the stairs – Violet thinks that might have been what kept her alive, kept her parents’ murderer from following her scent down to the basement. She escaped death that night by sheer dumb luck, and…now that she’s dead, Violet isn’t really sure that she did anything worthwhile with all that extra time. A decade is plenty of time to make something of yourself, and Violet…made herself into a monster.

It’s been a long time since she picked up a cello. The strings feel familiar beneath her fingers, though, picking out chords as if it had been yesterday. Violet tunes quickly, stares down at the bow gripped tight in her hand, then closes her eyes and begins to play.

It’s far from perfect. She is  _very_ rusty, and the flubbed notes when her fingertips slip through a string instead of pressing down make things even worse. She manages to get all the way through the song though, and the final note resonates through her with an odd sense of accomplishment.

“I didn’t know you could play.”

Violet’s eyes fly open. The bow drops through her hand and clatters gracelessly to the ground, and Paige grabs the cello before it slides away. “You’re really good.”

Violet scoffs. “No, I’m really not.”

“Well, you’re the best ghost cellist I’ve ever heard,” Paige says, flashing her a cheeky grin. Violet rolls her eyes. “Really, though. A little more practice and you could really be good.”

Violet makes a big show of peering around the music room. “Yeah, I’ll get right on finding myself a ghost teacher.”

Paige doesn’t laugh like Violet expected her to. Instead, her knuckles whiten around the cello while the tips of her ears burn red. “I could teach you,” she mumbles to the floor.

Violet stares. “What?”

“I could teach you,” Paige repeats, with a bit more confidence. “I mean, you’re already pretty good, and I could just – show you a few pointers. If you want.”

She looks hesitant, so different from her usual sly humor, that Violet finds herself plucking the bow from the floor before she can think it over too much. “Well, it’s not like I’m getting any deader.”

Paige brightens immediately, handing over the cello and running behind Violet’s chair to position her fingers. “Like this, see,” she says, as her hands press feather-light over Violet’s. “And then, gently-”

Violet listens carefully, all too aware of Paige’s hair falling over her shoulder –  _through_  her shoulder, actually – and her face so close that Violet can almost feel her cheek burning. “This is, like, the opposite of that scene from  _Ghost_ ,” she says.

Paige laughs and nudges Violet’s hand into the opening chords.  _“…And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much,”_ she warbles, melodramatic and deliberately off-key.  _“Are you still mine?”_

Violet thinks she could listen to Paige sing forever.

 

* * *

 

Violet has finally begun to accept that she’s stuck ghosting around this place for no reason at all and no end in sight, so, naturally, that is when everything goes to shit.

It starts innocuously enough. Paige sneaks out one night to meet Derek, as they have been doing with increasing frequency. Sometimes, Paige comes back giddy and eager to tell Violet all about their midnight trip to the Preserve, and sometimes, Paige comes back with a secret smile and doesn’t say a word. Violet doesn’t pry. Sometimes, she really doesn’t want to know.

So when Paige sneaks out to meet Derek at the school late one night, Violet doesn’t think twice about it. She putters around Paige’s room, rearranges the scrunchies on her dresser just because she knows that it will bother Paige later, then climbs out to the roof to stargaze.

Stargazing is very, very boring, especially with the moon being extra full and bright and getting in the way. It’s almost unnerving, even. Violet frowns up at it, the faint sense of foreboding tugging firmer and firmer at her gut, then she leaps to her feet and sprints for the school.

It’s nothing, probably. The more Violet tries to convince herself of this, the more her gut lurches, her mind blanks into a panic, and the hairs of her arms stand up on end. It’s nothing, but her heart pounds too loud in her ears. It’s nothing, but her blood runs cold. It’s nothing. It’s nothing.

She bursts through the school doors to see Paige pacing aimlessly in front of the stairs. Down the hall, a towering man stalks towards her. His mouth splits open in a toothy smile, his hands curl, and his eyes glow unnaturally red – “Paige!” Violet screams, darting for the stairs and pushing Paige to her feet. “Paige, run!”

“Violet?” Paige lets herself be pulled to her feet, doesn’t even notice the alpha werewolf running towards them as she grabs Violet’s hand with wide eyes. “What-”

 _“Run!”_  Violet shoves Paige away as the alpha grabs for her. A dim sort of pain flares in her arm, almost unfamiliar, and she blinks at the blood dripping down her arm. Then the alpha lunges forward, and she forgets about everything but the target in front of her.

He’s bigger than her, and stronger, but Violet is used to that. Her momentum sends them both crashing down the stairs, and Violet ignores the pain that flares through her shoulder. She leaps to her feet, hands itching for a weapon as the alpha lumbers to his feet.

_“Stop!”_

Violet barely reacts to the voice bouncing down the hall, sounding bizarrely like Derek’s, for some reason. She focuses on the alpha, ducking his swing as he tries to grab her.  _“Stop!”_  Derek’s voice shouts again.  _“Don’t hurt her!”_

The alpha’s red eyes narrow, and he knocks Violet away easily as he follows Paige up the stairs. Blood wells in her mouth, and her mind blanks into white-hot rage. “Don’t  _touch_  her,” she snarls, and yanks back his arm as he reaches for Paige.

Her world tilts. Pain flares in her back as she flies into the railing, then the stairs. “Violet!” Paige screams, and then the alpha’s hand draws back with sharp claws that suddenly look so very familiar.

This time, she doesn’t have time to think before the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song from _Ghost_ is ["Unchained Melody" by The Righteous Brothers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiiyq2xrSI0).


	3. Chapter 3

Her hand burns.

Violet opens her eyes slowly. She’s sitting in a wooden chair; it rocks on uneven legs as her weight shifts. Her arms hang loosely at her sides, one just close enough to the fireplace to be uncomfortably warm, almost burning. The innocuous chatter around the room slowly filters into her ears, and she glances around the dimly lit café and rain pattering against the windows. She turns back to the table and finds herself staring into Garrett’s eyes, dulled with dark circles and an empty sort of relief.

She knows where she is.

Garrett blinks slowly, as if roused from a dream, and slides the envelope across the table. “We got a job,” he says.

Violet opens the envelope, brow furrowing as she pulls out the photos. She’s seen these pictures before, she knows this job, but the name is unfamiliar, the place, and no, no, she’s never seen the face in the photos before in her life. Violet shakes her head and gulps down her coffee. It sears its way down her throat, and the burn helps her wake up, wipe the cobwebs from her mind as the remnants of last night’s crazy dream fade away.

The person is a target, nothing more, nothing less. It doesn’t matter what they did; it doesn’t matter if they didn’t do anything at all. They are only a target, and this is only a job. They always say the first job is the hardest, so it’s a good thing that this will be their second. Technically. Violet taps the figures on the paper. “Pay’s okay. Could be better.”

“We have to earn our way up first,” Garrett says. He hesitates, then adds. “It’ll get better.”

It’ll get _easier_ , he means. Their first job had been easier than anything Violet had ever done. She’s always been a fast learner, same as Garrett, and they had been…highly motivated.

Their parents hadn’t done anything wrong. They’d never hurt anyone, and that hadn’t mattered at all to the man who killed them. A hitman. A bounty hunter trading blood for money. It had been all too easy to track him down, all too easy to watch his life bleed out.

It had been all too easy to make it hurt.

The music on the radio changes from cheery Christmas carols to a classical station – no, not classical, but a pop song played by an orchestra. Violet straightens when the cellos play a familiar melody. _“And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much_ ,” a voice whispers in the corner of her mind. Its familiarity dances on the tip of her tongue, and as much as Violet feels like she should know the voice, she can’t place it at all. “ _Are you still mine?_ ”

Violet shoves the papers back into the envelope. It sits too heavy in her hand, too cold, and she swallows hard before meeting Garrett’s eyes. They’re unfocused, staring blankly at the radio as if he hears something else entirely. He turns back to Violet slowly, brows drawing together, and she doesn’t hesitate before tossing the envelope onto the fire. “We’ll find another way.”

Garrett lets out a sigh. The corner of his mouth tilts into a grin, so slight and tempered with self-loathing that Violet can barely even see it. “There are plenty of bad guys in the world,” he says, staring into the depths of his tea. “We don’t need to add to them.”

Violet nods, watching the papers burn away to a crisp. Their parents hadn’t done anything wrong, and maybe the person in those photos hadn’t either, and maybe Violet’s hands are already too stained with blood to wipe them clean again. Maybe they’ve never been clean at all, ever since they were splashed with bleach as she cowered in her family’s basement.

And maybe she doesn’t care about having clean hands at all.

“There are plenty of bad guys in the world,” she repeats. “I’m sure some of them made some enemies.” She glances up at Garrett, crooking an eyebrow. “With _much_ better pay.”

Garrett’s smile deepens. “I always hated having competition,” he says.

She drains the rest of her coffee. “Let’s go to work.”

 

It turns out that killing killers isn’t exactly easy.

Tracking them down isn’t easy. Catching them in a vulnerable position isn’t easy. Killing them before she or Garrett is killed instead isn’t easy. Violet has lost count of close calls, of scar tissue growing tough and gnarled on her skin, of broken bones never healing quite right and breathing around bruised ribs. Garrett has a metal bar in his arm now. It’s better than claws through his chest.

The money makes it easier. The money gets them better weapons, cleaner bribes, more powerful connections. Garrett keeps an increasingly lucrative collection of blades; Violet finds herself partial to weapons that loop and ensnare. She had always been talented at the violin as a child, had always played the cello with a dogged fascination; maybe she just likes the feeling of string drawn taut under her fingers. The money makes their methods easier, better, more fine-tuned; Violet still has to choose to pull the proverbial trigger every time. No amount of money makes that part easy. They never accept jobs without researching the mark.

She isn’t naïve. Neither of them are under any misconceptions that they are good people. The fact that they exclusively target killers doesn’t change the fact that they are killers themselves. If the world spun in perfect cycles, someone would come to kill them one day. And on that day, Violet has no doubt in her mind that she would deserve it. People aren’t monsters because of who they are, but because of what they do, and Violet isn’t naïve enough to believe that everyone is worthy of redemption.

And when the fight is over and she watches a murderer’s life bleed out beneath her hands, she knows that she can live with that. When she looks at an assassin’s list of victims and looks on as Garrett stabs them through the heart, she knows that she can live with that. She knows that she can live with being a monster, when a target stares at her in unabashed hatred and spits out, “Who _are_ you?”

Violet’s lip splits as she smiles, and blood trickles down her chin to settle in the hollow of her throat. Garrett stands next to her, sheathing his blade with a leisurely sigh, and their target collapses to the floor. “We’re the Orphans.”

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, she remembers things that never happened.

They come in small flashes, sometimes, in moments shorter than the blink of an eye. A darkened hallway, a brush on a wooden dresser, Garrett smiling at a bloodstained knife. Violet can’t piece them together, no matter how much she tries. It’s maddening, because in those tiny moments, they feel so familiar. They flash so vivid in her mind, brighter than her strongest memories, and she knows, she _knows_ that they’re real. And that damned cello that she hears sometimes, that damned melody and the ghostly sensation of hands wrapped around hers is the most maddening of all.

Still, that doesn’t change the fact that none of it never happened. So it shouldn’t mean something when she and Garrett find out about the deadpool that has sprung up in Beacon Hills. The town’s name shouldn’t light a flare in her mind because she’s never been there. And the name at the top of the list with the biggest bounty of all shouldn’t freeze Violet down to the floor.

“Scott McCall,” Garrett says, eyes unfocusing. He moves to the computer automatically, pulling up information on the only known True Alpha. “He went up against the Demon Wolf _and_ a darach and came out stronger than ever. No one could take him in a deadpool.”

“He’s not the only one on the list.” She scans the list for – she doesn’t even know. None of the names leap out at her the way that Scott McCall’s had, none of them spark that hint of familiarity in her mind, and she finds herself relieved and disappointed all at once.

“No,” Garret agrees, voice faint as he stares at the list. He frowns, shakes his head, and peers at the list again. His hand presses involuntarily to his chest. “A lot of innocent people are going to die.”

Violet looks down to see her hand clasped around her thermal wire necklace. She remembers a hand closing around her throat and the locker room’s unforgiving wall behind her. She remembers red eyes narrowing like the center of a storm, piercing into her very soul and finding her lacking. She remembers, and she says, “We’re going for Scott McCall.”

Garrett nods. His eyes are unfocused, lost in his own haze of recollection, and Violet wonders what he sees. “We’re going to help him.”

It almost feels like redemption.


	4. Chapter 4

Violet doesn’t know what exactly she expects to find in Beacon Hills, so naturally, the one thing that she _does_ expect isn’t even there.

Namely, Scott McCall. Beacon Hills is a veritable ghost town in his pack’s absence, the winter air chilly and crackling as if the entire town were holding its breath. They track down a Melissa McCall at the hospital easily enough, the right age and similar enough to Scott’s picture to be his mother – and for the briefest of moments, something white-hot slices through Violet at the sight of her. Melissa McCall, the mother of the world’s only True Alpha, a woman who stayed by her son’s ascent from frail child to teenage legend…and still lives to keep his secrets.

It’s jealousy that Violet feels, maybe, or maybe terror, or maybe a frantic, boiling rage. She nods along as Melissa McCall stitches the shallow gash on Garrett’s arm, as the True Alpha’s mother cracks terrible jokes and assures Garrett that he’ll heal in plenty of time for lacrosse try-outs next week. “And you?” she asks, turning to Violet with a smile. “Are you trying out for the team, too?”

The smile throws her off, even though it shouldn’t. “Oh, no,” she stutters out lamely. “I, uh, I’m more into…cheerleading?”

Garrett quickly masks his snort into a cough while Melissa nods gamely. “BHHS doesn’t have an official squad, unfortunately, but there might be like-minded students if you’re interested in starting one,” she says. She walks them down the hall and holds open the door to the waiting room. “Good luck with the new semester!”

Garrett pokes the bandage around his arm, snorting faintly as the door shuts behind Melissa McCall. “Yeah, we’re going to need it,” he mutters. He swallows hard before glancing up at Violet. “She seems nice.”

She really is. Her name wasn’t on the list at all, but Violet isn’t naïve enough to believe that the deadpool will claim its victims without any collateral damage. “She lives,” she says as they leave the hospital. “No matter what, we make sure nothing happens to her.”

Garrett nods silently, and Violet knows that he understands. There are enough orphans in the world as it is; there’s no use in making even more of them.

 

When Scott McCall and his pack finally return, they don’t have bounty hunters on their heels. Violet doesn’t understand the delay – now would be the perfect time to strike, when the pack is weary and still in some sort of scrambled shock from whatever had called them away from Beacon Hills. The winter air feels different, though, the calm giving way to rattling gusts. Violet doesn’t understand what it means until Garrett freezes next to her as they watch Scott McCall and a brown-haired girl follow an older man to the high school.

“Berserkers,” he chokes out. His eyes widen, knuckles whitening around the blade in his hand. “Berserkers-” He drops abruptly to his knees, wheezing for air as his hands claw frantically at his chest.

“Garrett?” Violet kneels carefully next to him, pushing down the tiny bubble of panic that rises in her as Garrett shakes. “What’s wrong? Are you-”

Garrett straightens slowly, eyes closing as he draws a shuddering breath. “Berserkers,” he repeats, abruptly calm. “Controlled by a hunter – a werejaguar.” He takes another breath, then adds, “Kate Argent.”

“She’s on the list,” Violet says automatically, even as her blood runs cold at finally hearing the name spoken aloud. “How’d you know-”

The distant rattling of bones echoes through the chill night air. “They’re here,” Garrett says, and grips his blade with hardened resolve. “I won’t let them win this time.”

 _This time?_ Violet almost asks, but the words die in her throat as a dark-haired boy leads an older woman to the school. “I know them,” she hears herself say instead, then blinks. “I – Garrett-”

He squeezes her shoulder. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

Violet runs after the pair, fighting the chills stabbing down her spine at the sight of the woman’s wild blonde hair. There’s something about the boy, something important, something terribly familiar. The boy stops in front of the sign, werewolf claws gleaming in the wan moonlight, and the pieces finally fall together in Violet’s mind. _“Derek!”_

Derek Whatshisface whirls, and blood immediately drains from his face. _“Violet?”_ he gasps out, voice choked. “You’re – but – I thought you-”

Kate Argent turns, features shifting in annoyance. Violet freezes in place as Kate’s eyes flick over her, human brown instead of shifted green, and she reaches involuntarily for the wire at her throat. “Who the hell are you?” Kate demands, then turns back to Derek impatiently. “She’s not important, Derek. We need to-”

Derek’s white face whitens even further. “You can see her, too?”

Kate frowns. “What-”

“How do you know my name?” Violet demands.

“You…Paige,” Derek says, flushing. He steps closer to Violet, reaching out hesitantly. “She told me, after, but you – Ennis – I _saw_ it happen, I saw you…”

Violet grabs his wrist. “I’m not dead.”

He blinks. “Oh.”

“And this places looks nothing like it did when I _was_ ,” she adds, glancing around the campus.

 _“What?”_ Kate snaps.

“But that was just a few years ag-” Derek falls silent as he looks at the sign in front of them. His mouth falls open, and he looks angrily between Violet and Kate. “What’s going on?”

Kate lays a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Derek,” she begins soothingly, but the roar of an alpha werewolf drowns out her words. Violet follows its fading echoes to the far side of the school, then jumps when Derek runs after it. “What are you doing?” Kate snarls, yanking him back by the arm.

“That’s Scott!” Derek shouts.

Violet’s brows draw together. Something isn’t adding up. “You know Scott?” she asks.

“Yes,” Derek says immediately. “No. Sort of? All that matters is he needs help, and I need to help him, and you’re-” He glances between them, then yanks free of Kate’s grip. “One of you is lying to me, or both of you, maybe, but I don’t care right now, okay? Right now, I just need to help Scott.”

 _“Derek!”_ Kate watches him sprint away, then whirls on Violet. The thermal wire is already waiting in Violet’s hand, and she whips it into Kate’s snarling face. She allows herself a moment of satisfaction as Kate collapses with a howl, then runs after Derek.

She rounds the corner in time to watch Derek leap from a railing and rake his claws down a Berserker’s chest. Garrett backs away from the second Berserker, watching it stumble with his blade buried in its leg. The wind shifts, and the Berserkers abruptly turn and flee into the night. Garrett slumps against the railing with a whoop, flashing Violet a relieved grin.

“Derek?”

Violet doesn’t know exactly what she expected from Scott McCall, but – she hadn’t thought his voice would be so _soft_. It makes sense, maybe, when Scott McCall stumbles to his feet with his eyes locked on Derek. Derek finally turns around after the Berserkers disappear, and…his face shifts. His face shifts with every step, and his body grows, until the man who stops in front of Scott McCall doesn’t look a thing like the teenaged Derek Whatshisface.

Violet blinks. “What the _hell_.”

 

* * *

 

“So, you’re not actually dead,” Derek says.

“So, you’re not actually fifteen,” Violet says.

“I haven’t been fifteen in ten years,” Derek says, sitting next to Violet on the couch. He holds out a steaming mug of…some sort of tea. Violet hadn’t really been listening when he rattled off the contents of his tea cupboard. Derek Whatshisface had never exactly struck her as the type of guy to have a _tea cupboard_. “Besides these past few days, I mean,” he adds, then frowns. “No, I was seventeen then. Eighteen? Something like that.”

“Well, seventeen-or-eighteen-year-old you had the _worst_ taste in women,” Violet says. “I know she definitely murdered me at some point.”

Derek blinks, then sips his tea. “I’m sure that made sense in your head.”

“Not at all.” Violet drinks her tea, then grimaces and hastily sets it down on the coffee table. It tastes like shit. And for a guy with a _tea cupboard_ , Violet is a little surprised that Derek doesn’t seem to own coasters. “I _know_ it happened, but obviously it didn’t, but I _know_ I was dead even though I’m obviously not, and you said that-”

“I saw you die,” Derek finishes quietly. “One minute you weren’t there, and then you were, and then you were dead.” He hesitates, then adds, “We had to bury your body.”

“Huh. You think my skeleton’s still rotting in there?”

Derek blanches. “…I have no idea.”

“Well, it’s still kinda cool,” Violet says. Derek glances at her, eyebrow raised. “I mean, how many people get to say they died _twice?_ ”

Derek nods. “I guess,” he says, sounding unconvinced. He stares down at his tea, tapping his fingers against the mug. Finally, he asks, “Do you want to see her?”

 _Yes_ , her mind shouts immediately. _Yes_ , she wants to see Paige again, hear her voice and listen to her play and _touch_. Violet had never really felt touch-starved when she was a ghost, but now that she _can_ , now that she can feel Paige’s hand wrapped around hers, god, she wants. But as she looks at Derek to say _yes_ , she sees the unfamiliar lines of his face. His voice has changed so much, and he carries himself so differently now, even just sitting on an uncomfortable couch. If Violet hadn’t seen him in his de-aged form, she never would have recognized Derek Whatshisface. And she’s terrified that the same might be true for Paige.

She drains the rest of her tea. “Ten years is a long time,” she says instead.

It isn’t a yes, and it isn’t a no, and Derek nods in understanding. “Do you and Garrett have somewhere to stay?” he asks, changing the subject. “There’s-”

“We’ll make our own way,” Violet interrupts. Scott McCall still sets her off-kilter, and she knows firsthand how cold his kind eyes can turn when a line is crossed. It’s not that she’s afraid of him, it’s just that…she doesn’t understand him yet, and she is always wary of people she can’t understand. Besides, she hates owing anyone anything. A place to stay is no small exchange. “You know, it’s not very smart to trust someone just because you almost met them a decade ago.”

“I don’t trust you,” Derek says simply. He sets his mug on the table. “I definitely don’t trust Garrett. But Scott is willing to give you a chance, and I trust _him_.” He smiles, all sharp teeth and glowing yellow eyes. “But if you hurt him, I’ll kill you myself.”

Violet snorts. “I’ve killed a lot of people, you know.”

“I killed my uncle,” Derek offers.

“Uncle Peter?” she asks. Derek nods. “You know, I never liked him.”

“He came back to life.”

Violet stares at Derek for a long moment, then bursts into laughter. “Damn, Derek,” she says, elbowing him with a snort. “You can’t even kill people right.”

Derek laughs.

 

* * *

 

Things are so different this time around – and yet, weirdly enough, so very similar. Violet doesn’t kill as many people this time; there are far fewer bounty hunters than targets, for one, and Scott McCall doesn’t seem to be a very big fan of killing, for another.

(She and Garrett hunt down the Chemist on their own and make sure that he chokes to death on his own blood, though. Poisons and toxins are one thing; biological warfare is something that even Violet could never resort to. It’s just so… _impersonal_.)

Most things are different, but they almost feel the same. Garrett almost gets eaten by a wendigo when he remembers Scott McCall’s “no killing” rule mid-stab, and Violet follows Brett Talbot into the locker room to save him (and almost decapitates the bounty hunter before Scott McCall shows up). And somehow, in spite of everything going so differently, Violet still finds herself tied to a chair with Kate Argent snarling in her face.

This time, though, the claws only graze her throat, and Violet opens her eyes to see Scott McCall dragging Kate back while Allison Argent shouts behind them. Violet doesn’t pay them much attention, though, too preoccupied with Garrett freeing her from the chair. Made it to you this time,” Garrett says with an odd sort of grin as he helps her stand. Violet starts to ask him what he means, but a sharp pain flares through her leg and she abruptly passes out.

(The biggest difference this time around, she thinks dimly, is how safe she feels around these people that she lets herself pass out at all.)

 

Having a broken leg is terrible, especially accompanied by a broken wrist, which amounts to boring casts and even more boring crutches that prevent her from getting in on any of the fun. (She only calls it “fun” around Garrett, since no one else seems to find the deadpool even remotely entertaining. Violet can’t exactly blame them, considering she isn’t on the list at all.) But on the other hand, it isn’t _completely_ terrible, because Melissa McCall dotes on her the entire time that she’s in the hospital.

Violet isn’t a child – it’s impossible for her to be, when she’s sixteen and already a renowned assassin. She doesn’t know if Melissa McCall forgets this, or simply ignores it, but she…takes care of Violet, all throughout the surgery and bedrest and Violet’s attempts to sneak out of the hospital days ahead of schedule. It’s nice to be taken care of. It’s nice to feel like someone actually cares about you.

It’s a little scary when she gets offers to stay at three different households while she’s still hobbling around on crutches. Isaac Lahey even remembers to extend the offer to Garrett, even if he forgets that the McCalls’ guest room is at the top of a non-crutch-friendly staircase. None of them seem surprised or offended when Violet refuses, although Boyd insists on adding his contact information to her burner phone. It’s just easier to make her own way as she always has. Less people to owe. She already owes Scott McCall too much.

(Melissa McCall checks up on her throughout the healing process, though, and Violet can’t quite bring herself to weigh this into something to owe.)

A few days later, Garrett stomps into the hotel room and collapses moodily onto his bed. “A Berserker almost got me,” he says.

He doesn’t sound upset, just annoyed, so Violet shrugs and holds out her bag of Doritos. “Shit happens.”

“Liam saved my life.”

Violet blinks. “Dunbar? The freshman who’s always kicking your ass at lacrosse?”

“That’s just because he’s a werewolf,” Garrett snaps peevishly, even though they both know that isn’t true. He frowns at the ceiling. “I owe him.”

There’s a weight behind his words, something heavy and ugly that Garrett isn’t telling her. Violet hasn’t told him about Kate Argent, or Paige, or making the fatal mistake of crossing Scott McCall, so she doesn’t mind letting him stew in his own secrets. She gets the feeling that Garrett remembers more than he wants her to believe, anyway. “We’re starting to owe a lot of people,” she says.

Garrett sighs. “Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Derek is dying. Whatever Kate Argent did to him is killing him, slowly but surely, and killing her won’t fix a damn thing. Violet hates Kate even more for it, and she hates that she escaped death a third time to just to watch it claim someone that she actually…knows. It’s not that Violet _cares_ about Derek Whatshisface Hale, it’s just that…she actually knows him, sort of. He actually knows her, sort of. It’s been comforting to have that sort of connection.

They sit quietly on his sofa, sipping that godawful tea from steaming mugs. Finally, Derek asks, “What does it feel like?”

His voice is steady, and Violet doesn’t have to ask what he means. “It hurts,” she says. “Worse than anything you’ve ever felt in your life. But then it’s over.” Derek nods quietly, knuckles white around his mug, so Violet adds, “Really, though, the hardest part is making sure your last thoughts are something cool.”

His eyebrows lift. “Not my last words?”

“Nah, who cares about those,” Violet says, shaking her head. “Last thoughts – that’s what _you’re_ stuck with. Mine were pretty stupid. It would’ve been nicer if they were…” She shrugs. “Nice.”

Derek nods, then slowly sets his mug on the table. “I think I’m in love with Braeden,” he says.

“Have you told her?”

He shrugs. “I’m already dying,” he says. “Don’t know if that’d make it worse, or just pathetic.”

“You’re such an optimist,” Violet says, rolling her eyes. Derek huffs out a laugh, eyes soft and far away in his thoughts. He seems so _happy_ , in spite of everything, anchored down in a steady assurance of being loved and in love. Before she can stop herself, Violet blurts, “What does that feel like?”

Derek’s eyes unfocus, thoughtful and aching before settling into an unreadable calm. Finally, he says, “It’s nice.”

 

She doesn’t get to go to Mexico, not when she’s still hobbling around with a leg and an arm stuck in a cast. It’s for the best, maybe, when she finds Mason and Lydia at the school and re-breaks her arm taking down a Berserker. Melissa McCall is distracted as she sets Violet’s arm, gnawing her lip raw and glancing at her phone every five minutes. Violet has never seen the point of useless platitudes, but Melissa McCall has been so damn _nice_ to her. “They’ll be okay,” she says, and winces when the words come out harsh instead of comforting.

Melissa seems to appreciate it, though, as she lets out a shaky breath. “I just-” she says, then sighs in frustration. “It’s the waiting that I hate the most. Waiting, and not knowing what’s happened, and not being able to do anything about it.” She presses her lips together, then adds, “I’m sure Garrett will be fine.”

He always is. He knows his limits and when to throw in the towel to live another day, and his instincts never lead him astray. It’s what makes him such an ideal partner, never having to worry if he can take care of himself. But instead of telling Melissa any of that, she says, “It’s kind of weird going home without him there. Too quiet, you know?”

Melissa catches on to the hint eagerly. “You’re more than welcome to stay at our house,” she says. “There’s plenty of space.”

Violet nods. “I’ll make dinner,” she says, and Melissa doesn’t ask how she’ll manage that with one functional arm and leg apiece. She hopes that Melissa doesn’t mind crappy spaghetti from a can. It’s clear that Melissa won’t be doing much eating or sleeping until her son returns, but staying functional in the midst of a crisis is _important_. Violet isn’t about to let Melissa McCall shut down when she can do something about it.

Melissa smiles, still shaky but not as quietly frantic as before. “Thank you.”

Really, Violet should be the one thanking her.

 

“So, you’re not actually dead.”

Derek hands her a steaming mug of tea and sits next to Braeden on the couch. “Nope,” he says, grinning.

“What the hell _happened_ down there?”

His smile fades. “Peter tried to kill Scott,” Braeden says.

“I _told_ you I never liked that guy,” Violet says. Braeden elbows Derek with a snort. “So, did you kill him?”

“No.” Derek shakes his head. “He’s locked away where he can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

“Hm.” Violet shrugs. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t have killed him right anyway.”

Derek laughs.

 

* * *

 

Violet has been waiting for the itch to settle under her skin, waiting for her gut to tell her that she’s outstayed her welcome and it’s time to move on. But instead, Garrett makes first line on the lacrosse team and Mason drags Violet to every single game – even the away games, because apparently the die-hard lacrosse fans have a _carpool_. Instead, Erica tries to teach Violet how to drive, somehow manages to crash the car in an empty parking lot, and then Deputy Parrish teaches Violet how to drive while Erica shouts tips from the backseat. Instead, Violet finds herself glancing at job postings on BHHS’ bulletin board before she remembers herself. It’s uncomfortable, how comfortable she has begun to feel in Beacon Hills.

When new faces arrive and throw everything off-kilter, she’s almost grateful for the disruption.

The faces aren’t exactly new. Scott’s pack welcomes the twins happily enough, and the upperclassmen at school seem to recognize them, too. Violet even knows them from her research: Aiden and Ethan, blue-eyed omegas, runaways from their old pack who came to Beacon Hills last fall to warn Scott McCall against the Demon Wolf (and mostly ended up being nearly killed by the Darach instead). They aren’t particularly powerful, or distinct, or even part of Scott McCall’s pack, so Violet doesn’t bat an eye when Lydia introduces her to them. Garrett doesn’t bat an eye, either, just shrugs and holds out his hand in greeting.

Aiden and Ethan, on the other hand, stare open-mouthed and frozen in place. _“Garrett?”_

Lydia glances between them. “Oh, you’ve already met?”

“You can _see_ him?” one of the twins gapes.

His brother elbows him. “Of course she can see him, she’s a banshee.”

“But banshees don’t see ghosts-”

“Oh,” Violet says faintly. She watches recognition slowly dawn over Garrett, jaw going slack. “Garrett-”

Lydia’s eyes dart between them, and then her hands abruptly clap over her ears. “Oh,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Oh, this is weird.”

“I’m not a ghost,” Garrett says loudly. “I’m – you’re not – no.”

One of the twins – Aiden, Violet thinks – stalks forward and grabs Garrett’s arm. “I watched you _die_ ,” he insists.

“You were _twelve_.”

_“That was five years ago!”_

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?” Garrett demands. “It’s not like there was a calendar around to-”

“You didn’t recognize us,” the other twin says quietly.

The fight abruptly drains out of Garrett. “Ethan,” he begins, and Violet grabs Lydia and tugs her away.

Lydia doesn’t speak until they’re inside her car with the doors and windows firmly sealed. “I don’t want to know,” she tells Violet. She gestures around her head. “The stuff up here is confusing enough as it is.”

“Sorry,” Violet says. She even kind of means it. It must really suck being able to hear weird crap from dead people, especially if they aren’t even dead anymore.

“You’re not the first dead person I’ve had in my head,” Lydia says dismissively. “Not even the first dead person who isn’t dead anymore, either. And besides, you’re much nicer about it.” She starts the car. “You’re going to have to tell Scott, though. With Deaton.”

Violet nods. “Derek knows,” she says. “…Sort of. He was…there…when I was a ghost. Ten years ago.” She hesitates, then asks, “You’ve had other dead people in your head?”

Lydia’s mouth settles into a grim line. “Peter Hale.”

 _“Seriously?”_ Violet drops back against the seat with a groan. “Why is it _always_ him?”

“Preaching to the choir.”

“I _hate_ that guy.” She crosses her arms. “Been saying that for ten years, and no one listens.”

Lydia stares at her in surprise, then pulls over on the side of the road so that she can more properly burst into laughter.

 

Garrett doesn’t get back to the hotel until well after midnight, shoulders slumped and eyes glued to the floor. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says.

Violet waits.

He sinks into the chair. “They were just kids. We’ve seen bad packs before; they were in one of them. They needed to get away, make sure no one would come after them.”

“They needed to disappear.”

Garrett’s mouth twists into a bitter smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Something I could actually help with,” he says. “And it worked, until…well.”

“Until you died,” Violet says.

“Some alpha werewolf named Kali. Claws went straight through me,” Garrett says. “When I woke up, I was…that café, with the fire. Our first real job.”

Violet sits on the desk next to him. “I met a girl our age, here in Beacon Hills. Paige. Got my throat torn out trying to get her away from some alpha werewolf named Ennis.” She nudges his arm. “So, was being a ghost as lame for you as it was for me?”

Garrett bursts into laughter. “Oh _man_. I tried floating and I just fell off a cliff instead. I couldn’t even throw things! It was so boring.” His smile fades, and he asks, “So Kate Argent got you after all? The first time around?”

“Yeah,” Violet says. She sighs. “Knew I was a goner as soon as those Berserkers ripped open the truck. Did someone come after you?”

“Berserker,” Garrett says, nodding. “When I caught up to the truck.”

“Wait.” Violet sits back. “Wait, you went _after_ me?”

Garrett blinks, brows creasing in confusion. “Of course I did.”

“But why?” Violet demands. “That’s so stupid, Garrett. Why didn’t you just leave town?”

“Because I owed you,” Garrett says. “I still owe you. I’m always going to owe you, okay? I couldn’t leave.”

She stares at him for a long moment. “Garrett, you don’t owe me anything.”

He shakes his head. “I never would’ve made it without you, Violet. I owe you everything.”

Violet lets out a breath. “Well,” she says, “It sounds like the twins owe you even more.”

“No,” Garrett says immediately. “They don’t owe me. If anything…” He shrugs. “If anything, I owe whoever decided to take a chance on me and sent me to them.”

She remembers a solid hand wrapped around her throat and burning red eyes finding her wanting. “Yeah,” she says. “Me, too.”

 

* * *

 

Hayden frowns when Violet meets them in front of the school. “You’re not festive enough.”

Violet looks down at her plain jacket and dark jeans, then at Hayden’s bright red skirt and Brett’s disaster of a sweater vest. “Do I _have_ to be festive?” she asks.

 _“Yes,”_ Hayden and Mason say in unison. Liam nods gloomily next to them, Santa hat jammed haphazardly on his head. “It’s the Beacon Hills _Holiday_ Community Recital,” Hayden says.

“Here, borrow my scarf,” Mason says, taking off his scarf and looping it around Violet’s neck. “There! Now you’re in the holiday spirit.”

“What about Gar-” Violet begins, then rolls her eyes when Garrett elbows her with his red-and-white varsity jacket. “Fine. Let’s go; Erica said she’d save us seats.”

The recital is…nice. Violet lets herself zone out through most of it, giving her program to Liam and then snatching it back when he turns into a paper airplane aimed at the back of Aiden’s head. (She turns it into a paper football instead, and Malia sets up her reindeer headband as a goalpost during the more boring performances.) Kira and Allison chatter next to her after every performance, with Kira making valiant attempts to bring Violet into their conversations. It’s nice, comfortable, _easy_ , and Violet finds herself relaxing more and more as the night winds to a close. “What’s the last number?” she asks Kira, stifling a yawn.

Kira reaches for her program, then sighs when she finds it folded into another football. “Uh, some contemporary number with a cello, I think? There was something about a soloist.”

“Oh,” Violet says, and then the lights dim and familiar chords freeze Violet down to her bones.

She can’t move through the entire number, limbs locked in place as she watches the cellist in the small pool of light onstage. It’s Paige, she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt. She’s taller, dark hair short and straight instead of long waves, and her fingers dance over the cello’s neck with a confidence that Violet doesn’t remember from two years past.

No, ten years past. The differences are plain as day in the lines of Paige’s face, and Violet knows that the woman in the spotlight is nothing like the teenage girl she once knew. She barely notices when the song ends, stands automatically to clap when Malia tugs her to her feet, and can’t bring herself to look away from Paige bowing in front of them, smile as sweet and rosy-cheeked as Violet remembers.

Paige straightens, grinning at Scott as she starts to leave the stage – and then her eyes land on Violet. Violet steels herself as she watches Paige’s smile slowly fade, then lifts her hand and offers a tentative wave. She doesn’t know how she expects Paige to react – scream, maybe, or run away. Maybe even faint. But instead, Paige breaks into a bright smile, so big that Violet’s cheeks hurt just from looking.

“You know her?” Kira asks.

“I-” Violet turns to Kira, distracted, then looks back to see Paige leaving the stage. She turns back to Kira. “Yeah,” she says, and it settles in her like a steady affirmation. “Yeah, I do.”

 

Violet peers around the empty store before sitting down with the cello. The store employee – Tracy, according to her nametag – had already tuned it for her, so she plucks her way idly through the strings, trying to remember chords before she begins to play. She makes it through the first verse and halfway through the chorus before a note sours under her hands, and she glares down at her uncalloused fingers.

“You’re pretty good.”

She looks up to see Paige standing in front of her, a small shopping bag dangling from her hand. “That was a lie then, and it’s still a lie now,” she says, and shuts the cello back in its case.

“No, really, you have a talent for this,” Paige says. She follows Violet out of the store, waving to Tracy as they leave. “You know I wouldn’t just say that, Violet.”

 _I know_ , Violet almost says, but something makes her stop. Instead, she blurts, “I kill people for a living.”

Paige glances around the empty street, then lets out a sigh that puffs through the chilly winter air. “I know,” she says easily. “I think I started to guess, at the end. The way you fought Ennis – no one fights like that unless they’ve killed someone before.”

“Allison Argent never killed anyone, and she fights the way I do.”

Paige shakes her head. “She really doesn’t,” she says. “And anyway, Braeden told me everything.”

“Oh.” They cross the street in silence, then Violet asks, “You talk to Braeden?”

“Of course I do,” Paige says. She laughs a little. “I broke up with Derek almost a decade ago. Everything that went wrong with us is in the past.” She tucks her hands into her pockets. “Besides, Braeden’s such a great person, don’t you think?”

“I want to _be_ her,” Violet says fervently. Braeden is skilled, successful, respected, and has a ridiculously large collection of overpriced leather boots – exactly the kind of person that Violet wants to be one day. And beyond all of that, or maybe in spite of all that, Braeden doesn’t consider it her life. Violet knows that she doesn’t, not when she evaluates the worth of every job beyond just its pay – not when she so willingly risks everything to help Scott McCall’s pack.

Most importantly, Braeden knows what truly matters to her, _who_ truly matters to her, and she isn’t afraid to let herself have it. She still keeps up her callously indifferent act – and Violet can see the truth to it, the defense mechanism so finely honed that even Braeden herself believes the lie sometimes – but she isn’t afraid to drop it for those who matter to her. She isn’t afraid, not of being hurt on the job or being hurt by someone who matters, and Violet wants that. She doesn’t deserve it, probably isn’t even capable of it at all, but she wants it all the same. She’s always been selfish.

And…it’s so stupid, trivial, really, but…Violet wants what Braeden has with Derek. Not _with_ Derek specifically, no, but…the way that they’re so comfortable around each other, so complementary, and fall in unison so _effortlessly_. And the way Derek looks at her, with the moon in his eyes and love spilling out of every damn pore in his body – it’s too much, really, and Violet _wants_ that. She wants the gooey, mushy dedication piled atop a foundation so solid that it transcends confidence into simply _knowing_.

She pulls herself out of her thoughts as they wait to cross the street, and sees Paige watching her with a soft smile. “Yeah, I can see that,” she says. “You know, I never thanked you for saving my life.”

Violet shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m serious,” Paige says. “I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you. I can never thank you enough, Violet – I can never repay you for that.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Violet says quickly. She’s used to people owing her for saving their lives, favors to call upon and information to trade. She and Braeden keep a joking tally of debts for helping each other during jobs that Braeden chooses for them, even though they’re always milk runs without any real danger. But this…this is a whole new type of _owing_ , one that sits sour in Violet’s gut and stirs up a helpless sort of panic. “I mean it, Paige. You don’t – don’t think that way, okay?”

Paige sighs. “I just…you saved my _life_ , Violet. That’s…it’s kind of a big deal to me.”

“You saved mine, too,” Violet says. Paige stares at her in confusion, so she continues. “You said you wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for me. I wouldn’t, either. I wouldn’t have gotten any of this if I hadn’t met you – if you hadn’t helped me.”

“I didn’t help you,” Paige says, shaking her head.

“You did,” Violet says firmly. “Trust me.”

Paige stares at Violet for a long moment. “Okay.” She follows Violet into a kitchen store. “…You like kitchen stuff?”

“Huh?” Violet says absently, squinting at the signs until she finds the right aisle. “No. I mean, I probably should get stuff eventually after I move, but-”

“You’re moving?”

“Uh, yeah.” Violet shrugs. “There’s an empty apartment at Derek’s place, and, uh. Living in hotel rooms gets kind of old.” She stares at the shelves. “Anyway, I just wanted to get Derek some coasters. Like a thank-you present, or whatever.”

“Coasters?” Paige says, then snorts. “So you noticed that, too? I swear, his coffee table has so many mug stains he could pass it off as some avant-garde art piece by now.”

Violet laughs. “Yeah, I have no idea how Braeden deals with that.”

“They’re meant for each other,” Paige says dryly. “Ooh, get him the cat ones. He’ll hate those.”

Violet glares at her. “It’s supposed to be a _thank-you_ present.”

“Braeden’ll think they’re hilarious.”

Violet sighs and grabs the cat-shaped coasters. Paige smiles, cheeks plumped in glee and eyes sparkling with mischief, and Violet can’t help but smile back.


	5. Chapter 5

Violet stares at the paper in her hands. It isn’t much, isn’t important, doesn’t say anything about her or mean anything _to_ her…except that it does, somehow, and Violet isn’t sure when that happened. She isn’t sure when silly accomplishments and irrelevant milestones started to _mean_ something to her, and it scares her a little.

Scott sits next to her on the picnic table. “Congratulations.”

 _Thank you_ , she means to say, but, “I never really expected to make it this far,” falls out instead.

Scott nods, mouth twisting into a sad sort of smile. “Yeah, I get that,” he says. “I know it’s not the same thing, but – yeah.”

Violet slips her high school diploma back into its folder and takes off her graduation cap. “So, is college as fun all the movies say they are?”

Scott laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean, it’s a lot of work, but…” He ducks his head. “Most weeks, the worst I have to worry about is passing my exams. It’s so…”

“Normal.”

He nods. “It’s nice.”

“Good.” Violet has no intentions of going to college; she has plenty of contacts to pick jobs from, and sometimes Deaton sends her around the world to hunt down some rare fungus or tree mold. Garrett’s been working with the twins more, lately, on longer jobs all over the county, but Violet finds herself reluctant to stray too far from Beacon Hills. She’s settling, as much as she can be, more than she’d ever really hoped that she _could_ be, and…it’s nice.

Scott glances at his phone. “Oh, Braeden said she wanted to talk to you later,” he says. “Something about a job, I think?”

Violet hops down from the picnic table. “Is she _finally_ going to stop sending me on boring milk runs now that I don’t have to worry about homework?”

Scott shrugs, grinning a little. “I don’t know, boring’s kind of nice sometimes.” He holds up his spare helmet. “Need a ride?”

“Yeah, sure.” He’s right, of course. Boring _is_ nice, nicer than Violet ever expected to be. She isn’t about to admit that to Braeden, though. “Hey,” she says after Scott parks in the apartment’s garage, “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Scott says, pressing the call button for the elevator. “It’s the way to the Dunbars’ house.”

“No, I mean,” Violet says. She pauses, trying to find the words. “For everything. Giving us another chance. Thank you.”

Scott turns to her, eyebrows quirked. “Another chance?” he repeats. “I didn’t help with that. That was all you.”

Violet rolls her eyes. “Just shut up and let me thank you, Scott.”

“Okay, okay, ‘thank you’ accepted,” Scott says, laughing as he follows her into the elevator. “You know, half the time, I feel like we’re not really talking about the same thing.”

Violet shrugs. “Yeah, but it still makes sense, so who cares?”

Scott watches her as the elevator slowly ascends, gaze inscrutable. “I’m not who you think I am, Violet,” he says. “I’m not _what_ you think I am. You know that, right?”

She shrugs again. “You’re Scott McCall. You’re the reason I’m still here.”

It doesn’t matter if it’s all in her head or if the True Alpha really did pull her through space and time to give her a second chance. Violet had never really bought into the legend of Scott McCall, and she still doesn’t now. She can’t understand Scott McCall, the True Alpha hero of heroes, but she can understand Scott. And even if he doesn’t remember knocking her out of her hardened ways, even if he can’t actually send her back in time and restart her life…he still gave her a chance. He still saved her life. And he still helped her so much, for no reason at all, that she _wants_ to stay. Violet owes Scott McCall, more than he could ever know, and she’s okay with that.

Scott doesn’t really look okay with it, though, so she adds, “It’s just kind of nice to have someone to believe in, you know? Someone who believes in you.”

His gaze drops. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I get that.”

The elevator finally reaches the top floor. “You didn’t have to walk me up, you know,” Violet says, digging through her pockets for the key. “Shouldn’t you be going to lunch with Liam and Mason’s families?”

“Soon,” Scott says, nodding. “But I promised them I’d keep you distracted while they set things up.”

“What-” Violet begins, and then the door opens in a deluge of balloons and silly string.

 _“Congratulations!”_ Erica and Paige yell from somewhere behind the silly string, and Isaac’s gangly arm winds around her neck as he rubs his knuckles into her head. Violet swats half-heartedly at him. “Guys,” she whines.

Braeden smirks at her. “Admit it,” she says. “You love us.”

Yeah. She really does.

 

* * *

 

Maybe, Violet thinks, it’s okay to want things.

It’s not that she’s a stranger to _wanting_ things, or anything like that. Revenge, renown, money and tools to make it happen. She’s always been rather extravagant with her weapons. She likes nice things, and she likes having tangible goals.

But things like comfort, safety, acceptance, _home_ …they aren’t tangible. She’d never considered them more than a child’s fantasy, or at the very least, something that she could never dream of attaining. They were things that she didn’t deserve.

But now, after all these years…maybe. Maybe now that she has a place to live, friends who like and trust and _know_ her, maybe they aren’t so unattainable after all. She still doesn’t entirely believe that she deserves them, but she wants them all the same.

“Ducks or ponies?”

She looks over to see Paige holding up two sets of baby pajamas. “She’s turning _one_ ,” Violet says. “She probably doesn’t even know what they are.” Paige frowns a little, so she adds, “Get the one with the ponies. Everyone likes ponies.”

Paige puts back the duck pajamas. “You’re just saying that because you’re giving her a plush pony.”

“A plush _unicorn_ ,” Violet corrects, wiggling its rainbow-spun horn. “Even a werewolf with a kitsune mom should get to have imaginary creatures to believe in.”

“Unicorns aren’t real?” Paige asks. Violet shakes her head. “Damn. You’re just ruining my whole childhood.”

“Yeah, I can really see how turning thirty still counts as ‘childhood.’”

“Hey, I’m still twenty-nine for eight more weeks.” Paige lingers in front of a toy piano, slightly too old for Emma Yukimura McCall’s age. “I hope Emma likes music when she gets older. I’m starting to think Schuyler’s a lost cause.” She snorts. “Should’ve seen that coming, with Derek for a dad.”

“I tried teaching Braeden the violin once,” Violet says. “It wasn’t pretty. Poor Schuyler never stood a chance.”

Paige laughs. “I didn’t know you tried to teach Braeden the violin.”

“It was kind of a joke,” Violet says, shrugging. She grins at Paige. “If she really wanted to learn, I know she would’ve asked you, Miss Music Teacher.”

Paige rolls her eyes. “Hey,” she says, tilting her head at Violet, “how come I never ended up teaching you the cello?”

“Never got around to it, I guess,” Violet says, shrugging. “I guess it’s a little late, now.”

“It’s never too late to try something new,” Paige says. She plinks out a melody on the toy piano, then shrugs in a way that almost looks wistful. “Might’ve been nice.”

Violet has always been wary of wanting things. It’s easier not to care, because then it doesn’t matter what happens. But wanting something and watching it slip out of her grasp…that’s harder. That’s painful. That’s _vulnerable_ , and Violet hates being vulnerable.

But maybe, she thinks, maybe sometimes, vulnerable can a good thing.

“We could, if you wanted to,” she says. “I could pay you back-”

Paige frowns. “I don’t want you to-”

“-with dinner?” Violet finishes. She takes a deep breath, then adds, “Tonight?”

Paige stares at her for a long moment. “Violet,” she says slowly. A smile breaks across her face. “Are you asking me out?”

She bites her lip. “Maybe.”

“Well, then,” Paige says, beaming as she steps closer. “ _Maybe_ I would love that.”

Her hand wraps around Violet’s, solid and warm like a quiet affirmation. Violet smiles. “Maybe I’d love that, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say [hi](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

> The song from _Ghost_ is [Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiiyq2xrSI0).


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